We Are Kindred Spirits
by shadowkisses
Summary: Sometimes, the strangest obsessions spring from the most unexpected places. Professor Binns, fastidious and uptight, finds a passion for something other than history in the frightfully irritating Professor... ahh, what was her name? Hermione/Binns


It was appalling, really. Cuthbert Binns himself had been rendered speechless. That someone could insinuate that his own memory – his own, trustworthy well of knowledge that he had built over countless hours of frantic studying as a young, young man – was beginning to fail him… Atrocious! Despicable! That one could suggest such a thing!

He was determined to shrug it off as another hare-brained scheme raised by an inept colleague (and something of her face seemed a little familiar… who was she, a Miss Pucklebush, a Miss Gickleberry? No, no, no. Ahh… Greysquid, that was it - Miss Greysquid) but something niggled in the back of his mind, refusing to dismiss the suspicions that had raised themselves.

It had happened during class. He had been lecturing the First Years on the 88th Centaur-Human Rift, which had taken place in 1679 and had resulted from a succession of pointless legal documents being signed and stamped by the Ministry, none of which set forth had been adhered to.

The Ministry had selected its best Aurors to hunt down all the centaurs of England, attempting to forever banish the horrid species. And Cuthbert did think they were horrid – a vertically-challenged man himself, he could easily picture himself being stampeded over by a herd of the raging beasts.

That was when he had saw her – sitting taller than any half-asleep First Year, even he could easily see she was not a student. The one fact that confirmed this was the fact that her face openly expressed interest, although there was a frown playing between her brows. Her hand shot immediately into the air even as he realised that he had stopped reeling off facts for a moment to contemplate what she was doing in his class.

A few First Years had perked up in interest as she spoke with easy confidence. "Professor Binns, sir. I believe you are talking about the 84th Centaur-Human Rift, which had originated from the Ministry's inability to draft reasonable restrictions the respectable centaur race could adhere to without losing significant parts of their culture. The 88th Centaur-Human Rift, on the other hand, occurred when a particularly adventurous centaur kidnapped a witch and threatened to burn her alive if he was not made Minister for Magic."

He had narrowed his eyes. "I assure you, Miss Pricklesworth -"

"It's Granger, sir."

"Miss Grattlebush then. I assure you, it was the 88th Centaur-Human Rift, not the 84th in which the legislation -"

"It's _Granger_, sir, and no, it was not, it was the 84th… Professor Binns, sir, may I advise you check your notes for sure?" Her voice was patronising and bossy. He did not – would not - tolerate such cheek in his classroom, from anyone.

Bristling, he turned to exit the classroom. "I shall," he sniffed. How dare her - he knew the History of the Wizarding World as though it was etched into his hand, as though it sang through his blood. And he knew it - _knew_ it – that it was the 88th Rift, not the 84th!

Swooping through the blackboard amidst the angered exclamations from his students (he did not think for a second that they were excited whooping) he had zoomed straight for his room, muttering under his breath all the while.

"It was the 88th, not the 84th…"

He had whizzed into his room and straight to the wall marked "Centaur-Human Rifts." (There was not an empty wall in his room – every inch was covered with now-yellowed parchment, with dates and shorthand scribbled on it and pinned up furiously. Each wall had its own category, and "Centaur-Human Rifts" had a wall to themselves.)

With an expert finger, he had located the 88th Rift – ha! His memory was not failing him! But… no! He was wrong! It _was_ the 84th! How could… how could this be? Cuthbert Binns was never wrong. He had received one hundred percent in every single History of Magic test he had ever taken. He had been the best qualified out of the eight applicants for his current position. He was certainly not a man who confused his Rifts!

And in his room he now sat, frowning and wondering if this was just a one-time misplacement of memory or if… he shuddered to think of the landslide that would occur if all his memories were to be jumbled up. It was be excruciatingly confusing for him, for one…

It was too horrifying to think about. He placated himself by rereading the Rifts wall again thrice – no, four times, just to be sure that he knew.

-

Cuthbert Binns knew he was a ghost, on a subconscious level. He knew enough that he could zoom through doors and not be able to turn the pages of books, but he still 'ate' (he had deduced that all food was tasteless in comparison to the richness of history) and still breathed. Sometimes, in the night, he would awake coughing horribly, wheezing and struggling for breath. It simply never occurred to him that he needn't breathe any longer.

Just as it had never occurred to him that he should stop teaching – why, when there were so many eager young minds ready to learn? Perhaps there would be one – he would find one – with the same passion as he – a kindred spirit. (Of course, with his droning voice, one would never have realised he _had_ passion.)

So imagine his surprise when he zoomed into his classroom through the blackboard in his normal entrance – to find that despicable Miss Gruckledry standing in the front of the class talking animatedly, her horribly-bushy brown hair clipped behind her head.

"My name is Professor Granger, and I'm going to be helping Professor Binns over the next few weeks."

"You most certainly will not be!" Cuthbert exclaimed, his voice coming out nasally. "Now, sit, please."

Her smile was sugary. "Oh, Professor Binns, I'm Hermione Granger, the new Transfigurations Professor at Hogwarts. We met during your last lesson, if you recall – History of Magic has always been one of my favourite subjects and I was wondering if I could help out as you always seem to have to do an awful amount of work…"

Binns found his angry, irritated thoughts immediately replaced by a warm, flushed feeling. History of Magic, one of her favourite subjects! It was the first time he could recall a student paying him so high a compliment. He had inspired passion!

(It didn't matter that the person he had inspired was obviously as irritating as her hair was dreadful.)

But a little wave of resentment surfaced – he was perfectly capable of teaching on his own. (He knew this, even as a snaky little voice reminded him yet again of the looming catastrophe of his memory failure.) This… this… Miss Grundriggs… he didn't need her help!

"Please, I would love to help. You should know I was so completely inspired by your teachings during my five years taking this subject that I even applied to be Ministry Historian!"

Binns gasped, his eyes bulging. On the very, very, very best Historians could apply for Ministry Historian. He had applied himself (although had not succeeded in earning role, but no matter.)

And to know that this woman had also applied – he had finally found a kindred spirit! Someone with the same flair for teaching history! Someone with a passion for the stories of the past!

A new respect for her flared inside him.

"I took the liberty of drafting up some interactive lesson plans," she added as Cuthbert nodded fervently, inching closer her under the pretence of reading the inches of cold, black writing on stark-white parchment – he was, in actual fact, examining his possible kindred spirit.

She stood at least three inches over him, and had clipped nails, he thought approvingly. Her skirt suitably covered her knees. She spoke confidently, and with varying tone of voice, just the way he did (he had always rigorously ignored the whispers that he was tone-deaf and had a voice like a droning 'vacuum cleaner', whatever that was).

She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for comment on the wonderful lesson plans, of course. He cleared his throat and puffed his chest up impressively. "They're very... comprehensive," he said.

She beamed. She beamed at him! The force of the smile caused him to shrivel at the edges a little – it had been such a long time before he had been exposed to such a strong smile after all. She had beamed at him; she was his kindred spirit after all! How could he have ever thought her irritating?

No doubt that hair, atrocious at first glance, was really as beautiful as the silken locks of the perfect heroine of any romantic tragedy.

Instead of lecturing, Miss Grinosunshine's lesson plans consisted of them both having an educated conversation in front of an attentive class. The class could join in at any time. Personally, he was unsure with the lesson plans – surely, more traditional methods were wiser? But his kindred spirit seemed to know what she was doing.

They pulled out two of the scratched, wooden chairs and seated themselves in front of the class (him hovering silvery above his seat). Binns suddenly felt awkward as he found himself pinned under the curious looks of two dozen First Years.

He cleared it throat. "Today we will be discussing Centuar-Human Rifts," he began in a bored monotone. A few eyelids began to droop.

Miss Gringlylash cut in. "Does everyone know what a centaur is?" she asked kindly.

Binns stared at her as though she was mad. Perhaps she wasn't his kindred spirit after all! Everyone knew what a centaur was, why would she suggest otherwise? Unless she was incredibly dim-witted of course.

(But, a snaky voice in his mind informed him, if she was so incredibly dim-witted how did she know the 84th Rift from the 88th? How was she more knowledgeable of the History of Magic than he, Cuthbert Binns?)

"Everyone knows a centaur is!" he exclaimed, his voice escaping its monotone in squeaky protestation.

"Not everyone," she admonished. "I'm a Muggleborn myself, I didn't know until after I received my Hogwarts Letter."

Binns felt himself flush silver. Of course, Muggleborns!

A First Year tentatively stuck his hand in the air. "It's a half-man, half-horse," he said shyly.

Miss Grindylow nodded. "Thank you; it is precisely that, Mr…"

"Finnegan, Professor."

"Mr Finnegan, five points to Hufflepuff."

The boy grinned and ducked his head.

Binns decided to pick up the pace. "We will be talking about the Centaur-Human rifts that took place in the late sixteenth century and carried into the seventeenth century -"

"Yes," his kindred spirit interrupted brightly. "Centaur-Human Rifts. Does anyone know of them?"

Everyone stared blankly at the front of the classroom. Some shook their heads.

"Okay. So, let's talk about then in general. Can you think of any reasons why the Rifts may have begun to occur in the first place, Professor Binns? Just your opinion."

Cuthbert straightened himself in his chair. "Opinions have no place in history. We must look to the facts themselves for guidance. Our own thoughts are completely irrelevant."

She tilted her head to the left, while the students watched attentively. He felt a brief flash of envy at how she could command their attention so easily, but… no, he decided, it was a skill not worth having. It was unnerving how so many pairs of eyes followed her from around the room.

"Opinions do matter!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "Many of the prejudices against centaurs still exist today. We learn about the Great Rifts in order to prevent an entire inter-species war from happening!"

Binns frowned. "Prejudices against centaurs? Existing today?"

She nodded fervently. "Like the concept that centaurs are mere beasts and thus should follow Man's Law without question."

Binns frowned deeper. "But… centaurs _are_ mere beasts. With their wild ways, they have wreaked havoc for centuries – refusing to clear off land not belonging to them -"

"But the land does belong to them! In their eyes, at least."

"Yes, but not according to Wizarding Law, which was, after all, and still is I believe, the acceptable -"

"But why is it the most acceptable?"

Binns was shaking his head now, his eyebrows pinched together. "Because Wizards are more powerful of course, than these savage animals!"

Miss Groonderdug was smiling now. "So, the Centaur-Human Rifts weren't really about centaurs refusing to sign legislation or anything of that sort, in essence. They were about power – who was more powerful, who would be forced to obey the other's laws? What do you think?" The last question was directed at the students.

Binns thought about this new way of interpreting the Rifts. It made sense – the Rifts had proved that Wizards were ultimately more powerful.

The boy who had spoken before had his hand in the air again. His kindred spirit turned to him and nodded encouragingly. The boy spoke up. "I… Professor Granger… are you saying that centaurs… aren't just animals?"

She smiled. "Well, you told me yourself that they are half-man, half-beast, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Does this not make them at least partially human? They do speak our language, after all. And they know magic, although their's is a little different from ours."

Most of the class was nodding along.

Binns was tight-lipped and speechless. True, centaurs were half human, but they were also half savage beasts! That a creature that even begun to resemble a common mule could be given land… and their magic, although it existed, was no match for a Wizard's power.

He opened his mouth and said just that.

"This is why the Wizards won the last of the Rifts, if you recall," his kindred spirit replied as the bell rang. At the students who had begun to pack away their ink and parchment, she stood up and called, "For homework, everyone write a three-inch essay explaining how both the Centaurs' and the Wizards' viewpoints would have clashed to create the first Rift. Due next lesson!"

Sitting back down and brushing the strands of hair that had fallen from the knot at the side of her head away from her forehead, she turned and beamed at him again – that fully-in-force beam that caused him to shrivel at the edges. "That was great!" she exclaimed. "I think they understood. Well done, Professor Binns – and thank you for letting me join in with your lesson, I really appreciate it."

And with that, she stood up, gathered her notes and walked out the door. Binns caught himself daydreaming (like a boy!) about her blinding smile before hastily making his customary exit through the blackboard.

--

"So," his kindred spirit began, "the first Centaur-Human Rift. We've already discussed why the Rifts may have come to be, but what was the first Rift actually about? Does anyone know?"

No one responded. They were all staring at her attentively, waiting to see what she would say next.

Cuthbert cleared his throat. "The First Centaur-Human Rift occurred when a particular herd of centaurs refused to clear off a forest property in Northern Scotland."

She smiled at him, the smile that burned him around the edges and made him feel warm. "Perfectly explained, Professor, thank you," she said. "Can anyone think of what may have happened next?"

(No, no, no, he was not hoping she would smile again.)

A First Year stuck her hand in the air. "The man who owned the forest went to the Ministry?" she guessed.

His kindred spirit nodded. "Exactly. And where might that have led?"

"The Ministry issued an order for the centaurs to be removed, maybe?" the girl guessed again.

Miss Grongrong beamed at her. "I think you've been reading up on the Rifts, Miss Cactus, she said. "Ten points to Ravenclaw."

(No, no, no, he was not wishing his kindred spirit would tilt her head a little more so that her smile would be directed at him.)

"And what may have happened next?" he asked the class.

"I don't think the centaurs would've gone," a boy contributed. "I mean, it isn't really fair, right?" He was looking to Cuthbert's kindred spirit for approval.

"Exactly right, Mr Finnegan," Miss Griggle said. "The centaurs refused to leave, so the Ministry sent Aurors in. You can imagine the chaos that would have caused."

"Those poor horsies!" A Hufflepuff girl exclaimed.

His kindred spirit laughed. "My thoughts exactly."

And suddenly Cuthbert wasn't thinking of Centaur-Human Rifts. He was thinking about how her laughter was the most beautiful sound he had heard in a long time.

--

And so lessons passed, and Miss Grundlehurst became a regular part of his History of Magic classes. He began to wonder how he had managed to drone on about all the Goblin Rebellions and Centaur-Human Rifts in the past – the method seemed so… plebeian now, in contrast with the lecture-conversations he held.

This method of teaching, as his kindred spirit had assured him, was used by the greatest Historians of the day, and was very sophisticated.

Binns' chest puffed with self-importance at the thought of being sophisticated.

He also caught himself wishing, sometimes, that she would smile more. Kindred spirits smiled all the time, did they not? He liked how the force of her smile seemed to burn him up somewhere. He thought it must be a transfusion of passion – a shared connection, a shared love for the History of Magic.

The idea was one of his most romantic, perhaps.

He began to realise he could trigger her to smile. He would only have to smile himself, and she would begin smiling, and that burning feeling would take place as the transfusion of shared passion began. It was a beautiful domino effect.

Thus, he grinned nearly all the time now. Gone were the days where the only words he spoke were in a monotone, where the only expression on his face was a blank one, as his mind delved somewhere into the fifteenth century.

Even when Nearly Headless Nick informed him loftily that he should stop grinning, as his teeth were a dreadful sight, he had only grinned back, having caught sight of his kindred spirit moments before.

Life (or, well, death) was looking up.

-

Cuthbert Binns was grinning again. It was now a natural occurrence to see him grinning like there was no tomorrow, especially after one of his classes. He had shed his title as a "boring old drone". Now he was the professor who "grinned freakishly all the time."

But no matter. He was more passionate about History than ever. Not only was there the pleasure of discovering the stories of the past, but he had someone to share this pleasure with! His kindred spirit, of course.

Until the day he discovered that this shared passion for History may have grown into something else entirely.

It happened like this: one day, he was in his room reading the wall on the Renaissance period. A particular note detailed a romance between two lovers from enemy families – a tragic tale of woe and desperation.

They were, in fact, so in love that every time one smiled, the other would too. They shared a connection, a passion. (In the end, they were both tragically murdered, but that was irrelevant, really.)

As he read the words, his mind immediately leapt to his kindred spirit – bushy hair, clipped nails, nice, neat clothes, an expressive voice and a brilliant smile.

An absolutely brilliant smile.

Was it possible that he was having… that he… that he was having romantic thoughts towards Miss Gringlegott?

Preposterous! She was his colleague, his kindred spirit. It was mere coincidence that lovers felt the same passion as he – the bond between kindred spirits was very deep, after all.

But what if?

No, that was ridiculous. To prove his point, Binns swam straight through the wall and tucked the niggling thoughts to the back of his head.

At class the next day however, upon catching sight of his kindred spirit he began to grin like a foolish Romeo. Her answering smile made him feel warm. He closed his eyes, suddenly as unsure as any teenage boy. But he was man, he had to be decisive!

It was preposterous! He was her colleague and her elder by at least several years.

Preposterous!

-

They sat in front of the class again; all eyes were focused on him and his kindred spirit and the topic of discussion was ready at hand – the Tale of the Two Lovers. Miss Grangrang felt that it painted the portrait of inter-special prejudices perfectly.

The Tale of Two Lovers told the story of a centaur, Phalanges, and a witch, Femur, who had fallen in love with each other. As Phalanges faced banishment from the centaurs, Femur's village regarded the love as disgusting and treated her as sub-human. In the end, Femur and Phalanges, desperate to live with each other, had escaped to a hut in the middle of the ocean surrounded by strong Anti-Apparition Wards, where they spent the rest of their days.

It was a depressing tale, and one Cuthbert felt had no place in a history classroom. It was pure fiction, a silly fairytale, as he would have been more than happy to blither on about to anyone other than his kindred spirit.

Miss Grankledrought met his initial protestations with the cool, oddly familiar words, "But doesn't all fiction stem from some fact?"

He had grudgingly agreed, and, with a grim shake of his silvery head, conceded that his kindred spirit, who was, after all, the epitome of sophistication, knew best.

"Class," his kindred spirit, "today we will be discussing some of the literature and great works of art the inter-special clashes of the past have caused. We'll be starting, of course, will the Tale of Two Lovers. Does anyone know of it?"

A Ravenclaw girl put her hand in the air almost immediately. "It's the story where the centaur and the girl fall in love," she said.

Miss Granglebones nodded. "It is. Thank you Miss Robertess. Does anyone have ideas as to why we are discussing this particular story today?"

No one put their hands up.

"May I?" Binns enquired, waiting for her nod. "It tells of how far-reaching the consequences inter-special clashes were. That a family could disown their own daughter, and allow her to live in a hut in the middle of the sea!"

"Or the centaurs could drive out its leader," she added. "What does this tell you of the inter-special situation at that time?"

"It was very, very, very bad," a First Year Hufflepuff contributed shyly. His kindred spirit beamed at her. It was the smile that made him feel singed around the edges. Only, she wasn't smiling at him.

Cuthbert felt something deaden and flare in his chest at the same time. He didn't know what it was, and wondered: could this be a sign of his impending doom?

Memory failure, and now this. Oh, what could it be? Some dreadful lung disease, born of epidemic, like the one that had swept through Medieval Europe in the 1100s? Or some obscure heart condition? (He would have to consult his notes.)

For what else would burn in his chest every time she smiled at the student… yes, no, yes… like that!?

_Jealousy?_ A snaky voice in his mind asked.

And suddenly the last pieces of the puzzle he did not want to examine fell into place, leaving him spluttering and choking in its wake.  
He did not realise the class had paused its discussion and was staring at him curiously, watching his silvery form wrack with coughs with wide eyes, until Miss Gringlegrang asked, "Professor Binns, sir, are you quite alright?"

"Fine, fine," he managed weakly, his eyes watering at a rapid rate. "I… may I be excused, please?"

She looked surprised, before saying, "Of course, sir."

Still spluttering and choking, he swam through the blackboard and straight for his room, where the walls were covered with comforting parchment, and foreign feelings did not intrude on his solace.

He… it was real! Or was it? Could it be? No, it was! He was… the unthinkable had happened, worse than any Centaur-Human Rift! He was having romantic inclinations towards his kindred spirit!

He wanted to sink into the floor, sink into a pit of his own misery.

But…

And suddenly, as quickly as the depressing thoughts had come, they vanished. She was his kindred spirit after all. They shared passion!

And what if, what if, she had come to the same conclusion as he?

What if his feelings weren't preposterous after all?

He imagined her in a similar state of disarray, waiting for his smile, wondering if the romantic inclinations she felt were returned. He imagined his beloved kindred feeling miserable and unsure.

No, no, no, that could not be.

Staring around his room lined with mouldy paper, a sudden, wonderful thought struck him.

He could tell her!

He could tell her, and they would all be happy, and she would smile at him always.

The idea was so perfect, he marvelled at not thinking of it sooner.

--

Try as he might, he could not grasp a quill. It slipped through his fingers like wood through smoke. Snarling in frustration, he tried again and again, but he simply couldn't.

Shaking with frustration, he stalked outside into the corridor and caught sight of one of the First Years in his class. "You!" he snarled, causing her to jump with fright. "Follow me!"

He swept down the corridor and back into his room with her on his heels. "What have I done?" she asked meekly, trailing behind him.

He did not answer her, only spun around and said in a low voice, "If you tell anyone, anyone about this, I shall have you expelled."

She trembled. "Yes, Professor."

"Good," he replied, leading her into his room.

She immediately wrinkled her nose, her eyes roving over the parchment-covered walls with interest. "Professor, it smells in here."

He pretended not to hear. "Come here, I want you to write me a note," he snapped.

She followed him to his desk, and he pointed at the quill. She picked it up and spun it through her fingers. "What do I write?" she asked.

Cuthbert closed his eyes, waiting for the words to wash over it. "Dear Kindred Spirit," he began, before popping one eye open. "Are you writing it?!"

"Yes, sir," she said quickly.

"Good, good," he said, closing his eyes again. "My dear Kindred Spirit, how our relationship has… has evolved! Our mutual passion has morphed into something else entirely, or on my part, and how I wish you feel the same. My happiness is yours. Your smile is like sunshine. I…" here he paused and glanced at the parchment. "Have you written all of that?"

"Wait, sir," the girl said, scribbling furiously. "Yes, sir,"

"Please write back if you feel the same," he concluded. "Yours, Lovingly, your Kindred Spirit."

"Finished, sir," the First Year announced breathlessly.

"Good. Now, run along to the Owlery for me and post this to Miss Gangtrer," he said.

"Don't you mean Professor Granger?" she asked, her eyes wide.

He glared at her. "Yes, yes. Now, go. Post it. Or else I shall have you expelled."

She nodded meekly, grabbing the parchment and running out of the room. The door slammed shut decisively behind her, and he sank into his chair, rubbing his temples. It was done. Now he could only wait.

--

His kindred spirit did not write back that night.

--

Or the night after.

--

A week later, he was still waiting.

--

"I don't get it," Binns heard an unfamiliar male voice chortle. "Of all classes to volunteer to teach for, you pick the most boring one on the syllabus."

His kindred spirit's voice echoed around the stone walls of the corridor. "It isn't boring and anyway, the students were lacking serious knowledge. The way he was teaching it before, no one was really learning anything."

"But still, Hermione!"

"I think it's necessary, Ron," she replied.

Binns heard the male – Ron – mutter something under his breath that contained the words 'necessary' and 'spew'.

"It's S-P-E-W," his kindred spirit's voice cried exasperatedly. "And honestly! It's the truth!"

Cuthbert found himself bristling. Who was this strange man who irritated his kindred spirit!

"I thought he'd be a bit possessive about his class anyway. How'd you convince him to let you teach it?" The man sounded impressed.

She laughed the laugh that seared his insides. Binns felt jealously flare inside of him. "Oh, a bit of subtle flattery here and there."

"Hermione," the man groaned. "_Subtle_ flattery? Knowing you, you probably got him to fall in love with you or something."

"Oh shush, Ron," she replied, giggling, "I mean, he's a ghost for one."

"Well, you'd better be right there, because that'd just be wrong otherwise," he heard the man say as the voices trailed down the corridor away from him.

Binns remained hovering in the air, fervently agreeing with the man. His kindred spirit was exactly that – his. She didn't belong to any ghost or such!

They shared passion! And perhaps something more.

He knew it, he knew it, he knew it.

--

Two weeks later, and she still hadn't written back.  
But Cuthbert knew she would. It was only a matter of time.  
Until then, he would be waiting.


End file.
